


Return

by Swiftlet (SphinxTheRiddle)



Series: Cycles of Return [2]
Category: Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: F/M, Implied Romance, Retrospective, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SphinxTheRiddle/pseuds/Swiftlet
Summary: For all he is a subject to her whims, Enconeg never fears her absence.
Relationships: Female Fateless One/Enconeg Holn
Series: Cycles of Return [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716907
Kudos: 3





	Return

Return

It was never a question of whether or not she would come back—she always came back.

At first it was simple necessity; she had little coin to spare for an inn or a room at the local tavern, and he had offered her the bedroll he kept for travelers free of charge. He owed her that much. And perhaps, after so long in solitude, the intermittent company was a private joy to him.

But soon enough, her travels took her farther and farther from Dalentarth and the lonely shores of Ettinmere. It would be some time before she spoke to him of her adventuring, but his early life as a pirate and privateer had taught Enconeg what to look for. Sometimes, she returned in a whorl of summer wildflowers and the seasalt scent of the Tywili coast. Other times, she came upon his doorstep trailing the red-rock dust of Detyre in her wake, her fair skin deeply tanned and sun-freckled. The worst times were when he found her collapsed on the bedroll in a bloody heap, smelling of jungle humidity and war, souvenirs from the battlegrounds of Klurikon.

Yet no matter how far she roamed, she always returned, serpentine eyes glowing yellow-green in the gloam of the Mere. Looking back, Enconeg realizes he never once asked her why, never questioned it. Her presence was somehow intuitive, like a weave of Fate wrapped ‘round his cerebrum.

_Fateless, they call her_. The thought still sent shivers of chill dread and warm acknowledgment down his spine. For she comes back, this huntress of gloaming, as she always means to.


End file.
